Heartbreak of the Fathers
by x-Faux-x
Summary: Missing Moment from OotP during the Christmas hols. Harry sees something that makes him wonder what it's like to have a father, and Sirius takes it upon himself to show him. Chaos ensues. Chapter III now up!
1. Prologue: Sirius

A/N: The idea popped into my head at 3AM (of course) and refused to let me sleep until I wrote it out. This is a "Missing Moment" from Order of the Phoenix during the Christmas hols. Harry sees something that makes him wonder what it's like to have a father, and Sirius decides to show him. Chaos ensues. One-Shot!

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_"Until you have a son of your own . . . you will never know the joy, the love beyond feeling that resonates in the heart of a father as he looks upon his son. You will never know the sense of honor that makes a man want to be more than he is and to pass something good and hopeful into the hands of his son. And you will never know the heartbreak of the fathers who are haunted by the personal demons that keep them from being the men they want their sons to be." -- Kent Nerburn_

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Nobody knew jealousy better than Harry Potter -- except, perhaps, his best friend, but he did not much want to examine that train of thought too closely considering the current situation. Harry had spent the better part of his childhood watching enviously as his cousin Dudley paraded around with some new toy or electronic gadget in hand, smirking smugly at his frequent punching-bag. In those days, Harry had been certain that Dudley was the luckiest boy in England.

Those days were gone.

He'd been heading down to the kitchens in hope of finding Sirius, when he'd heard the muffled sounds of laughter coming from the drawing room, and had immediately sneaked to a convenient spot outside the door frame, where an old grandfather clock (the same one which had, during the summer, been shooting bolts out at passersby) cast a long shadow over the wall, making it difficult to see anyone who wasn't intent on being seen. Originally, he had hoped that he'd get a listen-in on a few of the Order members discussing a recent meeting. One glance through the open door was enough to show him he was out of luck and yet, he could not bring himself to leave.

The tousle-haired fifteen year-old thrust a hand in the pocket of his jeans, allowing himself to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him for long enough to feel disgusted with himself. Didn't Ron deserve this, when he had none of the fame or riches that Harry had? Shouldn't he, as Ron's best friend, feel pleased that Ron had a family that was so ... Furiously, Harry leaned closer to the gloomy wall of the hallway in which he was lurking, green eyes locked on two people just inside the drawing room. One of these people was Ron Weasley. The other was Ron's father.

Mr. Weasley had recently returned from St. Mungo's after Harry had -- _not me_, Harry reminded himself wearily, _it wasn't me that bit him_-- witnessed his attack in the middle of the night. It had been a close call, but Arthur Weasley had survived and was doing quite well by the looks of things. He was a bit stiff, and Molly Weasley certainly would not have approved, but Harry reckoned that if he could be engaging his youngest son in a playful mock-duel he couldn't be feeling too badly.

"That," said Mr. Weasley, with an obvious attempt at sounding stern, "was completely out of line. I am far too old to tapdance. What on earth good will come of teaching school children the Tarantallegra Hex?"

Ron, who was panting gleefully and waving his wand accusingly at his father, did not seem very chagrined, "You started it. It's completely against the rules of chess to float your opponent's pieces off the table. You'd think you'd be used to it by now, you haven't beaten me since I was .. what, six? Seven? Hermione says accepting your weaknesses is the first stage to living happily, Dad. And you owe me five sickles."

Mr. Weasley looked vaguely surprised. "I always thought Buddha said that!"

"Five sickles--"

"You can't honestly tell me Hermione, bright though she is--"

"I could charge interest--"

"--knows the path to Enlightenment better than Buddha!"

"Six sickles, now--"

"And _speaking_ of Hermione, son--"

"If you even think of saying what you're going to say, I'll raise it a galleon. Really I will, Dad, I'm getting richer by the second--"

"--I seem to recall her mentioning your lovely gift of perfume--"

"It was a free sample!"

"--And I am coming to the conclusion that I will soon be forced to _Petrificus Totalus_ you and force you to sit through The Talk--"

"Augh! You don't -- Agh! Dad --"

"--I had to do it with Fred and George, poor boys have never quite been the same, I'm sure you remember the day Fred tried to Memory Charm himself and found himself with a rather compromising pair of ears -- "

A loud crash, followed by a deep roar of laughter interrupted the banter, and Harry Potter turned decisively on his heel, and walked as quickly as he could back up the stairs, determined not to think about it. He'd not hold it against Ron that Ron's father was alive, that he could play and laugh with him as if they were both half their ages. He'd not hold it against Ron that he, Harry, never would.

So intent was he in his haste to leave that Harry did not notice that he had not been the only person watching the two Weasleys, and so he did not see the horrible recognition flash in Sirius' eyes as he watched Harry ascend the stairs.

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Even inthe days directly following Halloween fourteen years ago, Sirius had never missed Prongs more than he did as he watched the look on Harry's face as they both listened to the teasing dialogue between Ron and his father. Harry should never have had to look that way, as though he were looking at a world he could never be part of, not when James had spent so much time playing with his son, beaming like a fool everytime Harry so much as sneezed.

James, after his father had died, would not so much as put his arms around Lily for months. The boy who had so easily thrown an arm around Sirius' shoulders grew distant, almost cold. Sirius, who had never been one to understand subtlety, had confronted his friend in what he now realised was not the most understanding of natures. What had followed had been the worst fight to ever occur between Padfoot and Prongs, and Sirius had left the Potters' house with a black eye and a tail sprouting out of his rear.

Remus and Wormtail, Sirius remembered, had been most concerned when a very pregnant Lily confided that rather than be frustrated with James' lack of affection, she was horribly worried about him.

And then Harry had been born, and Prongs was back again. From the moment he first held his son in his arms, Sirius (who had wrangled his way into the delivery room owing to what he called his Sacred Right as Godfather) had seen the light return to James eyes. It had taken two healers, one godfather, and one Lily to convince James to put Harry down.

"Padfoot?"

Sirius started, his eyes flickering open to the realisation that Remus Lupin was standing in front of him, smiling mildly as he'd always done. Sirius returned the gesture apologetically.

"Sorry mate, I was just remembering something."

Oddly, Remus did not look as though this answer eased his anxiety for his friend, but the weary looking man only nodded. Sirius was grateful; it gave him room to ask what he needed to ask.

"Remus, what's Harry's uncle like?"

Remus frowned thoughtfully, surveying his friend with knowing eyes that both irritated Sirius and worried him. The Azkaban escapee wasn't certain how he felt knowing his friend could guess his thoughts so well, though it had never bothered him in the past. The first time he'd seen Remus again had also been the first time anyone had embraced him in twelve years, and had he not known that both Wormtail and Harry -- oh, Harry -- were so nearby, it would have been enough to stand like that, leaning against his friend until the Aurors came for him.

He was startled out of his thoughts once more as Remus replied.

"I'm sure he's told you about them, Sirius, he doesn't trust me like he trusts you," For the barest instant, there was a note of bitterness in his voice, but when the werewolf continued it was gone, and Sirius wasn't certain he hadn't imagined it. "But from what I've gathered from Dumbledore and McGonagall, his aunt and uncle would like nothing better than to have never been burdened with him. Old Flitwick even told me once that --" Remus stopped himself, and evaded all of Sirius' attempts to catch his eye.

"_What_?"

"Flitwick told me .. now it was only a rumor Sirius, so don't lose your head, for Merlin's sake," When Sirius scowled, Remus continued, looking far from reassured, "You remember how he told us once in sixth year that he places a simple Location Charm on the acceptance letters to first year students? It places the full address of the receiver on the envelope? Yes. He er .. he told me the longest he'd ever had to spend charming envelopes was the year Harry came to Hogwarts, and that was because his uncle ignored the first umpteen-hundred of them. Anyway .. he was surprised, he told me, because whereas most letters have the location of the recipient's bedroom, the first letter ever sent to Harry was addressed to .. what did he say it was? 'The Cupboard Under the Stairs' or some such --"

"Harry's bedroom was a _cupboard_!"

"Sirius, it could have been anything --"

"A bloody .. a damned .." Sirius sputtered, pale eyes wide with furious realisation.

Remus just barely succeeded convincing Sirius not to question Harry about it ("Hasn't he got enough on his mind, Padfoot?") but the Animagus did not sleep that night. His thoughts were plagued the usual memories of nights in Azkaban, but they were joined tonight with images of a raven-haired little boy sitting alone in a cupboard. Several times that night, Sirius began to question what else Harry's uncle could have been capable of, if he was able to house a ten year-old in a .. Sirius shuddered.

There was, he knew, nothing he could do to bring James back for Harry. James was gone, and Harry would never know his father. Fourteen years after his death, Sirius still could not let himself contemplate his friend's absence too closely; that wound had festered for years in Azkaban, and was even now far from healing. And yet, he, Sirius, was Harry's godfather. Sirius loved Harry likea son-- he couldn't tell him, of course; Harry was fifteen, and Sirius was unsure how Harry would take affection anymore.

Still, he had to do something.

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Morning came, and found Harry Potter miserably awake, having remained that way all night, and though he knew he was indulging himself in self-pity, the Boy-Who-Lived was finding it harder and harder to care, even as he stared up at the paint peeling off of he and Ron's shared room in Grimmauld Place. At half ten, Ron woke and made quite a show of rubbing his eyes and moaning blearily, clearly attempting to rouse Harry (who had shut his eyes and feigned sleep at the first sign of his friend stirring) to join him in the land of the living. His efforts were futile, and eventually Ron made his way downstairs, leaving the door wide open in his wake.

The smell of fresh coffee and tea very nearly coaxed Harry from his brooding, yet as he heard a loud series of pops in quick succession (A Weasley's Wizard Wheeze, no doubt), followed by Mr. Weasley's roaring laugh, he found that he could not join them. Could not intrude on their family, when he --

_THUMP_!

Something enormous had barrelled through the open door to Harry and Ron's bedroom, and Harry saw only a streak of black before the massive creature hurled itself on top of him. As he now found himself with a mouthful of shaggy black fur, Harry's attempts at shouting for help were futile, and once he recognised Snuffles the dog, the muffled pleas turned to a very long, drawn out groan.

Snuffles wuffed at him.

"S'r'us, geroff me, s'too early."

Snuffles was not impressed, and readjusted himself so that he was now sitting on his godson's chest and eyeing him reproachfully. Despite himself, Harry grinned. Somewhere near his ankles, a shaggy black tail wagged. Freeing one arm from where it had been pinned to his side and swiping the fur from his mouth with a look of disgust, Harry groped around for his glasses. Snuffles appeared to take this as an invitation to be helpful, because in the next instant he was springing off of Harry's chest and seizing the black framed specs in his mouth, managing to slobber on them a great deal more than was necessary.

Squinting vaguely, Harry held out his hand expectantly. On cue, Snuffles trotted decisively in the other direction. The effect was immediate. With an indignant noise that was far from coherent, Harry -- who seemed to have forgotten that he was clad rather unimpressively in only his drawers to sleep in -- stumbled out from his bed sheets and staggered off after his godfather, who sped up considerably once he noticed he was being pursued.

"'Ey, get back here! I can't see anything, Sirius, really --" Harry's point was made when he managed to trip over the troll-leg umbrella stand in what appeared an excellent imitation of Tonks. By some small miracle, Mrs. Black had not awoken. Harry wondered if perhaps she wasn't a morning person.

Sirius had made his way into the drawing room, where he set Harry's glasses down on the floor and took to his haunches, tail wagging delightedly with Harry's glasses laid between his front paws.

Harry scowled in Sirius' general direction.

"You have ten seconds, Sirius."

Snuffles barked insolently. Harry began to count down, not appearing to notice the canine-grin across the dog's face.

"--Two, one!"

Harry sprang at Snuffles, who let out a dramatic yelp as the Boy-Who-Lived crashed headfirst into Snuffles the dog, knocking both of them to the floor, where they were met with a sickening _Crunch_. Seconds later, the bear-like dog had disappeared, Sirius reappearing in his place and presently doubled over with laughter whilst trying to untangle himself from his godson. Harry's attention was on the floor, where his glasses were now smashed into several unhappy pieces. It was becoming more and more difficult to be irritable with Sirius when the Animagus was in such a good mood, and Harry had bite his lip to keep from smiling.

"Sorry Harry, but it was a necessary evil. Duty as a godfather, and all that." Sirius rubbed his ribs where Harry's elbow had driven into them, and waved a hand casually over Harry's glasses, which mended themselves wearily, as though they were getting rather tired of being broken all the time. "Rest assured my duties are complete. Now if you would kindly get yourknees off my chest .."

Harry picked up his glasses and set them resolutely on his nose, but made no motion to remove himself from Sirius' person. After several moments of attempting to get his hair to stop sticking up even worse than usual, he gave up the battle and settled on surveying his godfather with a look so reminiscent of James that Sirius felt his heart lurch. Or perhaps that was just his godson's elbow.

"I dunno, Sirius, what's in it for me?" Harry hid his anxiety behind a grin. For all he knew, Sirius could be getting sick of this game, or annoyed that Harry had bruised him when he'd dived for his glasses. Sirius could be comparing Harry to James right now, disappointed that Harry had reacted the way he did and not like James would have reacted, or .. or ..

And then Sirius was letting out a bark of laughter, and in one movement the roles had been reversed and his godfather had pinned him beneath him. Harry reached up to cuff the bigger man playfully around the back of the head, and on and on it went until Sirius and Harry were in an all-out wrestling match on the floor of the drawing room. And slowly, Harry's fears began to drain away, and by the time Sirius let out a victory laugh, half-kneeling on Harry's back and using one fist to grind his knuckles into his godson's messy head (which gave a muffled howl of protest from where it was pressed into the carpet) the worry that his godfather would push him away had all but disappeared.

"Say 'godfather', Harry."

"Nmmff!"

"Resistance is futile, Little Prongs."

"Goff m'back y'old mutt."

"You are going to force me to resort to drastic measures --"

"Goff!"

"--which may or may not rid you of what remains of your dignity --"

"RON! H'RMIONE! 'ELP!"

"--depending on whether or not you are ticklish."

Silence.

"Am I to take your silence as a 'No, Sirius, I'm not ticklish'?"

"Ermmm .."

"Erm? Say again, Little Prongs."

"I durno. Goff."

"You _don't know_?"

A shrug. Vaguely, it occurred to Sirius to wonder if Harry wasn't telling the truth. Merlin, had his godson received any human touch as a child?

"Then there is simply only one way to resolve this issue."

"NMFF! RON! HELP--Aaah!"

Harry exploded with laughter as Sirius attacked his sides, eventually rising to kneel beside his godson to keep from suffocating him. The black-haired boy made several valiant attempts to escape, but the pawing at his sides was making him thoroughly jelly-legged. And incoherent.

"I ought to just make myself a cup of tea, you're not going anywhere at this rate."

Harry squirmed, eventually composing himself enough to roll over and have a go at batting his godfather's hands away. Clearly, Harry hadn't been lying; he seemed not to realise he had just provided Sirius wigh a target much easier to reach than his sides. When the man started in on his belly it was clear the game had been won.

"Aaah, no! Stop, stop, stop! Ah .. I give! You win!"

With a final parting jab at Harry's ribs, Sirius flopped down beside him, snickering as he hadn't done since he was still at Hogwarts, pulling some prank or other with the Marauders. It took quite a while for Harry to catch his breath, and he was still giggling faintly by the time he wiped his forehead with his hand and turned to grin at Sirius, who had propped himself up against the wall, casually.

"I reckon that answers that question," Harry mumbled sheepishly.

Sirius barked with laughter, reaching forward to help Harry off the floor, where he joined him sitting against the wall.

Thoroughly exhausted, Harry flopped lazily sideways, some instinct from the past leading him to burrow lazily against the warm weight at his side. Hardly a second had passed before it occured to him that the presence he was cuddled against like a little boy, was Sirius. Stiffening in a horrible rush of embarassment and shame, Harry forced himself to draw back and sit upright, not daring to look at his godfather's expression.

He'd done it now, Harry thought miserably. Sirius had given him the best time he'd ever had on the Christmas holidays, and now he'd gone and ruined it by acting like a needy little kid, and he didn't even _know _why he'd done it, because it wasn't like he was starved for affection, was he? He wasn't that pathetic, was he? Was he really that --

And then there was a strong, warm arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Sirius was pulling him close to his side, ruffling his hair like it didn't matter at all.

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When Harry went down to the kitchen and the Weasleys half an hour later, Sirius behind him, Mr. Weasley and Ron were arm-wrestling on the table, Bill was grinning and cheering his little brother on, and Ginnyhad her arms around her father's neck, laughing.

"He's a good dad," Sirius said softly, watching Arthur with laughing eyes.

"Yeah," said Harry, looking up at his godfather with a grin, "He is."

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A/N: My first one-shot! How was it? Reviewers will be worshipped several times daily :D If enough people think it's alright, I'd like to do a follow-up. Something with Lupin, maybe. Anyway, let me know! Thanks for reading!


	2. Remus: Part 1

A/N: So. I saw nine reviews when I first checked back, and started laughing until my poor beast of a dog went tearing from the room. Next thing I know there's twenty-three. I completely heart you all, most sincerely. I expected maybe a handful of reviews and flames. So .. I thought I'd do the follow-up as a bit of a thank you! I suppose it could be turned into a lengthier story, but there are so many Post-OOTP Lupin confronts Harry 'fics that I'm a bit hesitant to try one. Don't want to get anymore cliche than I've already gotten xD. Anyway, this will be in two parts for now, as l don't really want Harry to seem .. ah, well. I guess you'll see what I mean. Thanks a million for the reviews, I read all of them and would respond if not for the most illustrious fanfiction dot net making such excellent, wonderful, completely acceptable habit of terminating every story to do so. But.

Hypothetically .. if you were ever called .. unlikely2 , Tondo-the-half-elf (who's name I thought I recognised from FA and was very excited to see. Hypothetically, I mean) , SeriousSiriusFan , NKB (Peanut butter or chocolate chip?) , crimkid, GinnyHarryP (I did consider that actually, it was in one of the drafts, but it seemed too awkward to me. You're not paranoid at all:D Proverbially.) , The Rogue Raven, Dragon, Insanepyroshorty, Dreamer, Larna Mandrea, anon, Sugar E. Quill (Am thoroughly flattered!) , carzla (see aforementioned!), fleur, porcupineapple, Von, SailorChibi (You hypothetically convinced me to get off my rear and do it, so thanks very much! D) , SexyBlack (Oh I agree, I even loved Pensieve!James despite his busted giveadamn about bullying people!) , abay, and / or HeathenGoddess .. and you ever left .. a review .. it was very, very much appreciated. This is all just rhetorical, of course.

/askingfortrouble>

Disclaimer: Jo does. I don't. Some of the text in this chapter has been taken directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. They will likely be the only well-written and edited portions of this story. I beg your premature pardon.

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_"It no longer bothers me that I may be constantly searching for father figures; by this time, I have found several and dearly enjoyed knowing them all." --_ _Alice Walker_

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It was raining outside, and for once Aunt Petunia was allowing Harry to do as he pleased rather than, "Track mud all over my clean carpet with your grubby trainers, they were never so filthy on Dudley," as she so eloquently put it. Normally Harry would consider this a vacation in and of itself, and be celebrating with some of the Honeydukes chocolate left over from his last Hogsmeade visit -- he'd saved it suspecting he'd once again have to survive on grape fruits, but oddly enough, Dudley's diet had come to a screeching halt. The diet was not the only thing which had drastically changed since his last summer (_Sirius, Sirius I -- _) which had been decidedly less pleasant than the present. And yet, Harry could not enjoy it. Would not enjoy it.

But he would not think about that, because he'd been thinking of it since the Incident and it felt like -- it felt like -- Like I will bleed to death with the pain of it, Harry thought, blandly.

He'd think about -- his birthday. That was certainly safe, wasn't it?

_"... Please consider it as thirteen birthdays' worth of presents from your godfather ..."_ _No, stop it._

Ron. Ron and Hermione and .. Ginny and Neville and Luna --

_"Harry? I ... I don't think Sirius is here."_ _Enough!_

There had to be something he could think of! Quidditch --

_"You fly as well as your father did, Harry ..."_

**_STOP IT!_** In a horrible fit of grief and rage, Harry raised his hand and slammed it against the side of his head so that his eyes watered -- It was of course, Harry knew, the only reason his eyes were watering, because nearly-sixteen year-old men did not cry.

But there was no escaping the fact that he could think of nothing else, every thought led back to Sirius, Padfoot, Snuffles, Black, it was maddening. _You've had a month to deal with this, Potter,_ Harry reminded himself miserably, _you ought to be over it by now_. Except that he wasn't, except that he couldn't imagine ever being over this. Except that the mere thought of 'being over this' made his stomach contract with fear that he could not understand. If he didn't grieve Sirius, who would?

_Lupin would_, said Harry's conscience quietly, and Harry supposed this was true, but he did not very much want to think about Lupin right now. Just the thinking of his ex-professor lit a furious fire in his chest, and he was certain that spending too much time contemplating this irrational anger could not be healthy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was well-aware that the werewolf did not deserve Harry's hatred for saving Harry's life -- if anything, Harry ought to be finding a way to repay him. Right now, however, this did not particularly matter to the Boy-Who-Was-Forced-To-Continue-Living.

If Lupin hadn't held him back, Harry could right now be --

_Dead_, drawled his conscience.

with Sirius. Yelling at his godfather for being so stupid (_You're not being fair, Potter_) or apologising to Cedric Diggory, or kissing his mother on the cheek, or embracing his father.

_Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Sirius hugged you twice during the Christmas hols -- well, sort of, the first bit was horribly silly and undignified, and the second bit was too dignified and --_

"I am an ungrateful wanker." said Harry.

"I've been saying that for years," moaned Dudley, who seemed to have developed a knack for coming along when Harry was least in the mood for it. It did, however, give Harry a suitable distraction.

"Dementor dementor dementor --!"

Dudley's face contorted in genuine horror, his piggy face paling several shades even as he retreated quickly to his room. Instantly, Harry was ashamed of himself. Who was he to mock a person for having ill-effects to dementors? What would Sirius think of him? (_Oh God, Sirius_ ...)

Dudley, as it turned out, had been suffering far worse from the dementors than Harry thought possible. A year from when the event had taken place, his cousin still had reoccuring nightmares that sent his mother to his bedside, bawling along with her oversized son. Oddly enough, Uncle Vernon seemed less tolerant of such nightly happenings, and on one occasion Harry had even heard his uncle snarl, "Not again!" as Dudley woke from his slumber, howling. But perhaps this had less to do with Dudley and more to do with Uncle Vernon, who had reached new heights of temple-throbbing rage this summer. Harry was not worried, of course -- for one, his uncle could not move very fast, weighing approximately that of a small bull, and nor was he likely to punish Harry any further than a cuff on the head after the Order's warning.

Cuffs on the head had been becoming more frequent, on the other hand, and oftentimes they occured for no reason at all except for Harry's uncle's desire to see if his nephew wouldn't retaliate and allow Vernon to discipline him further. Harry had not yet spoken so much as a word about it, yet his patience was rapidly thinning as the smacks became more frequent, and he had taken to hiding his wand in the sleeve of a particularly old and shabby rain-jacket whenever his aunt ordered him to tend to the garden. Harry feared that if his uncle was feeling apopleptic enough and noticed Harry carrying his wand in his pocket, he might confiscate it. Vernon had not yet noticed its new hiding place, which was just as well. The teenager did not dare to use magic outside of school again -- he really didn't fancy the idea of another hearing -- and his wand would only be used for Threat Leverage if the worst were to occur.

Which was why, when a few hours later Harry found a man standing in the corner of his bedroom on the way back from nicking a biscuit from Dudley's special treat-box, his first reaction was to shout something unintelligable, stumble backwards, and promptly tumble rear-first down the stairway. The man in Harry's room let out a shout of dismay, and stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, clearly horrified.

Harry had landed in a dishevelled heap on Aunt Petunia's mercifully soft carpet, his head throbbing several times worse than it had been earlier in the day (which was saying something, he allowed) yet he paid his bruised rear, skull, and pride no attention -- this was a feat which was only possible if well-practiced, and Harry had a great deal of expertise in the area. In any case, his attention was currently set firmly upon Remus Lupin, who was standing at the top of the stairs.

The flame began to grow in his chest again, and he felt the horrifying coiling of a snake that he doubted had anything to do with Voldemort.

"Harry -- oh, Harry, I'm terribly sorry, I never meant to frighten you!"

Harry said nothing. This was due mainly to the fact that he was biting his tongue as hard as he could manage.

_Rip, tear--_

_"It's too late, Harry!"_

_"Sirius I ... I think I'm going mad ..."_

_"Yes, I knew him. Or I thought I did."_

_"It was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me --"_

"Harry? Harry are you--" Vaguely, Harry registered the note of anxiety in his old professor's voice.

"Get -- get out." Harry stammered, stumbling over the words in his haste to make the man _leave_.

"I ...Harry I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"You ...I don't want to see you. I don't -- I can't -- **get out**!"

For a moment Lupin looked as though he was going to retreat -- he always does, Harry thought viciously -- but after a moment's hesitation he made his way down the stairs quietly, stood for hardly a second over where they raven-haired boy still lay on the carpet, and extended a hand to help him up.

The snake in Harry's chest began to rise up.

"I'm not -- I won't -- you have to leave." And Harry's voice, which was laced with fury, betrayed none of the panic growing in him.

Lupin ignored this, and stared resolutely at the wall directly across from him. Harry could see that his jaw was clenched.

"I've come to see how you're doing. Dumbledore thought you'd need someone to talk to."

Harry could not speak. Dumbledore, of course. It was always Dumbledore though, wasn't it? Dumbledore interfering with every aspect of Harry's life, sending this man to talk to him because he, Dumbledore, could not be bothered to do it himself. _Damn him! Damn all of_ _them!_

"Meddling old fool," Hissed Harry, and yet he could not recall summoning the words.

"Harry!"

Lupin's face was apalled, shocked, and he was kneeling down and reaching forward as though to grip Harry's arm. The man's hand made contact with Harry's skin, and suddenly he was terrified, furious, panicking because he knew what was going to happen, and he had to warn Lupin--

And then his head split open, and nothing seemed to matter except the raw, blinding pain that was the beast inside of him.

"Filthy werewolf, can you not see the boy loathes you?"

This time it was Lupin who recoiled from Harry, the shock on his face elevating several levels.

"Yes, you fool, he is mine once more. And yet, you look so surprised! Did you perhaps think Dumbledore's plans to be foolproof? Did it never occur to ... ah ... Dumbledore's Army ... that having taken Potter's blood, I would not be perfectly able to breach his charming wards through the boy's scar? No? Well, I suppose it is understandable. Even Lord Voldemort believed Dumbledore would have put_some_ measure in place to prevent such a ...tragic ...occurance as this."

"How--?"

"Through Potter's emotions, you stupid creature. I would have thought it obvious."

Emotions ...

"Although he is most easily accessible when he is feeling a powerful rage. I always was an advocate of teenage agression."

"Harry's not -- get out of him! Leave my -- leave him be!"

_Your ...?_

"Oh? Your what, Lupin? Your _cub_? How sickeningly melodramatic."

_...Cub?_

"Harry, Harry you've got to fight him!"

"Give it up, werewolf. Can you not see? I reside in him because of his overwhelming desire to harm you!"

_...No!_

"Harry would never --!" But Lupin did not sound so sure of himself anymore.

"No? It is all here in his mind, you fleabitten fool. Oh, he blames you for many things. Leaving him here, to begin with--" Harry tried to stop the words even as they escaped him, but the monster inside of him was ripping him from the inside out.

"--and then of course for believing your best friend could have killed his parents, yes, that one is particularly pungent--"

Lupin flinched sharply.

"--and, oh I quite like this one -- for not saving Black and then restraining him from throwing himself through the Veil of Death. And really, werewolf, you'd have saved me quite a lot of trouble --"

_...No! I don't ... it wasn't his fault! Sirius ... Sirius ..._

The snake hissed furiously, shuddered, and released him, yet this time Harry could feel it linger, feel it hide in the darker corners of his soul, waiting for its next oppurtunity to strike. Voldemort had been repelled this time, yet he would wait. But Harry didn't care, not now, not when it felt as though a scab had been torn open in his chest, and this time it was not Voldemort whom was making it difficult for Harry to breathe properly.

"Oh God, Sirius!" And too exhausted to feel properly ashamed, Harry slumped to the floor and sobbed.

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Perhaps the most terrible thing about werewolves by far -- in Remus Lupin's rather qualified opinion, anyway -- was their irritating insistance on continuing to live. Contrary to popular belief, he was not incessantly fighting down an irrational temper, nor was he overly fond of undercooked beef, or in a constant struggle to maintain control over what James had affectionately referred to as "your violent alter-ego, all that penned up rage has to go somewhere, mate." On the contrary, it was very rarely that he was ever conscious of the wolf in his mind with the exception of, say, the three days leading up to the full moon when Remus got weaker and Moony got stronger. At these times it was rather like having an irritating devil on his left shoulder, whispering in his ear things like, "You can't let Snivellus treat Peter like that! Peter is pack! Make that slimeball submit!"

This "whispering" was very easily ignored, all though it did tend to make him a bit -- to quote another of his friends -- "More Gryffindor."

_Oh, Padfoot ..._

Which was likely why Dumbledore ("Irritating man!" grumbled Moony) had so mildly suggested that Remus check on Harry. While quite used to ignoring Moony's very forward suggestions, the -wolf was having nothing of his feeble protests, and the were- did not very much feel up to arguing the point. Remus had not felt up to very much at all lately, and there had been a small explosion in the form of Alastor Moody when it had been discovered that he'd stopped eating three days following the full moon, when Moony was in no position to protest the surrender of his will to live.

And Harry ... ("Pack!" Moony had howled, "Padfoot! Prongs! Wormtail! Gone!") he was all that Remus had left.

And Remus should not be angry with him.

("Fetch my cub! Get him--")

"Get him -- save him, he's only just gone through!"

("--he hurts! Think of Prongs!")

How could he not think of James?

("Pack! We are nothing without the pack!")

Harry has his own pack. He has Ron, he has Hermione.

("He has no stag, no dog, no rat!")

Thank God, no rat. I cannot replace James and Sirius.

("He has no WOLF!")

Harry was still crying, still sobbing on the floor of Privet Drive with his head in his hands, slumped from exhaustion. Voldemort was gone, Remus could not sense him anymore, and Moony no longer snarled from within him. Harry was still crying, and Remus was still standing there.

He wanted so dearly to comfort him, and yet ... and yet Voldemort's words rang through his mind. Harry blamed him, Harry loathed him, Harry wanted to harm him!

("Cubs are unreasonable! Show him love!")

He felt his resolve weaken with his knees, until he had sunk down onto the carpet beside Harry, but made no move toward him.

"He's gone," Harry choked, shoulders heaving and back stiff with the effort of silencing himself.

"He's gone," Remus agreed, his voice husky and far less even than he would have liked.

And just as Moony began to howl his indignation at Remus' stoic attitude, Harry lifted his face so that green eyes met hazel, and Remus' irritation with Harry disappeared in an instant. He knew the raw pain staring back at him, had felt it so many times in his chest, in his heart. He knew that behind those eyes there was the same burning desire to no longer exist as Remus could feel in himself. Harry was sobbing, shame written all over his face, and yet he did not remove his gaze from Remus'. Remus did not cry, but Moony howled his agony in the depths of the man's mind.

"P'fessor ...'m sorry ...s-so sorry ..."

And quietly, moving with a gentleness he had not felt since Harry was only an infant, Remus hooked an arm around Harry's shoulders and leaned him forward so that the not-quite-boy's head rested on his shoulder, and Harry's arms gripped his back tightly, as though determined to keep him from leaving just yet.

It was awkward and heart-breaking and Remus could not for the life of him understand why it had taken him so long.

And even though it was not a smiling situation, Remus smiled.

"If you apologise again, Harry, I shall have to take points from Gryffindor."

Harry didn't smile, but he did make a choking sort of sound that could have been a laugh or a sob, or perhaps a bit of both.

For quite a long time they were both silent, and even after Harry's tears had dried and Moony had become less aware of his terrible loss and more aware that his "cub" was leaning against Remus, Harry did not loosen his grip.

"I miss him."

Remus was surprised to hear Harry's voice, hoarse from his sobs and oddly restrained. He was more surprised to hear himself speak.

"So do I."

Best Friend and Godson held each other, united in grief and -- though they were not yet aware of it -- family, until the Dursleys returned later in the evening.

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Author's Notes: End Part One. I know this chapter was much angstier than the previous, but I couldn't for the life of me think of a way to get around it. I realise there are quite a lot of versions of this sort of situation, and I hope it turned out relatively believable, but now seems a good time to mention that criticism is very, very welcome if I am not being In Character or have made errors. That said, I hope you enjoyed it! The next part shouldn't take too long to get up.


	3. Remus: Part 2

**A/N**: Am very sorry this chapter took so long in getting out! I'd no idea it was going to take this long, but an unexpected nine hour (groan) car trip out on horse business for a week caught me off guard. The next thing I know it's the 9th (my birthday!) and I finally have time to start writing this chapter!

So. Before I continue, one of the (very, very wonderful!) people to review asked whether this story was going to turn Slash, and I thought I'd get that answer done with quickly. The answer is no, there will be no mention of slash in Heartbreak simply because I don't intend for it to be long enough for any kind of relationship between Harry and anyone else, and to be honest, I'd never pair Harry with an adult because I don't feel that is ever going to happen in canon, and I'll leave it at that!

You can interpret anything you see however you like, of course, but the relationships in this story are primarily going to be ... father/son...ly. xD

Much, much, much love to everyone who reviewed, I read all of them and sit at my desk and grin like an imbecile for several hours thereafter.

**Disclaimer**: Jo does. I don't. Some of the text in this chapter has been taken directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. They will likely be the only well-written and edited portions of this story. I beg your premature pardon.

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_"A truly rich man is one whose children run into his arms when his hands are empty." -- Author Unknown_

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The Dursleys had been predictably explosive upon finding Harry on the edges of sleep at the bottom of their staircase, leaned against a man Vernon charmingly described as "that filthy wastrel from the station."

Lupin -- Remus, Harry's mind corrected numbly -- had managed to sedate the Dursleys without any real threat of bodily harm on their persons, although Harry (who was still feeling oddly drained from his encounter with Voldemort, and remained propped up against the wall at his ex-professor's feet) had seen the werewolf stiffen with anger when Harry's Uncle had referred to his nephew as "that freaky hooligan."

Owing, he supposed, to both his brief posession and his fall down the Dursleys' staircase, Harry was too dazed to question Remus as the older man led him into the Dursleys' back yard and sat him on the freshly-painted bench. His mind was still reeling with exhaustion from the day's events, and the hole of grief which seemed to have opened anew in his chest would not allow him to sleep. He hardly noticed as Remus spoke quietly into the tip of his wand and, with a precise flick upward, something silver and winged shot from the end and disappeared beyond the fence line.

A rustle of fabric at his side told him the man had taken a seat beside him on the bench. There was a moment of awkward tension before the shoulder at his side butted against his own, and despite himself, Harry smiled. Remus, he was quickly discovering, had no more idea how to show -- affection? He wasn't sure what to call it, now that he thought of it -- than he did himself, and what instincts the werewolf did have seemed distinctly canine.

"I've just sent a message to Dumbledore -- we'll have to assume Voldemort is telling the truth, I'm afraid, and you'll need to be moved to a more ... secure location should he attempt to invade your mind again."

_So that I don't wind up killing the Dursleys_, Harry thought wryly, but thought it wise not to voice this particular notion.

"Secure location?" Harry winced at the sound of his voice, which was hoarse enough to rival Remus' own.

Remus glanced at Harry apologetically, and at once the sixteen-year old could guess their destination: Headquarters. He was not aware his breath had hitched until Remus' hand gripped his shoulder with slightly more strength than was strictly necessary, but it told Harry what Remus would not say himself; the man was no happier about this situation than he was.

"When ...?"

"I'm not certain, to be honest," Lupin lifted a hand and rubbed at his temples distractedly, and again Harry wondered how close to full moon it was. "I expect we'll be hearing back from Albus within the hour."

A strange flood of guilt and affection hit Harry with the sound of Lupin's voice, and in an effort to echo the man's earlier movements, he bumped sideways. Instead of butting shoulders as he'd intended, the two companions knocked heads painfully. Reeling back in shock, Harry toppled over the side of the bench.

"Ow," said both, and the werewolf turned sideways in time to see Harry rubbing the side of his head and swearing vehemently.

Remus burst out laughing.

Harry spent a moment scowling at the man who was presently bent over and dissolved in irrational laughter which made him look ten years younger -- Harry had the fleeting impression that this was the first Remus had laughed in a very long time. He felt his lips twitch.

"That wasn't funny!"

Remus glanced up at him, still grinning, and quickly schooled his lined face into something solemn and stern.

"Not at all funny."

A moment's silence, and the werewolf fell back into peals of laughter.

Caught somewhere between amused and irritated, Harry scuffed the ground with the palm of his hand, located a particularly grubby clod of Petunia's choice fertilizer, and chucked it. It hit with a squelch between Remus' shoulderblades, leaving a thoroughly unpleasant stain on his already shabby cloak. Harry snickered hoarsely.

"_Demangius!_"

The reaction was quick enough to catch the normally alert teenager off guard, and a strange, yellow-tinted breeze passed over him. For a moment nothing happened, and he raised his eyes, ready to tease Remus for a failed attempt, when he was suddenly aware of a powerful itch behind one shoulder. Harry had no sooner craned one arm around to scratch the offending area when a stronger itching started along his ribs and further down his back. Scratching frantically, he was aware of Remus' amused monologue in the background.

"Gah! Agh -- can't -- reach -- take it off!"

"Really Harry, you ought to know better. Throwing clumps of old manure at your Defense teacher, unacceptable behavior."

"What the -- _ugh_ -- hell is this?"

"Demangius -- the Itching Powder hex. The more you scratch, the worse it gets. Ought to stop that, really."

Harry paused mid-way from raking furiously at his scalp. His hand twitched.

"Off. Off, take it off!"

"I may need convincing. This stain on my cloak may never come out -- finest quality cotton, they just don't raise sheep like they used to, anymore."

Apparently having given up on not scratching, Harry went back to trying to twist around to reach the more difficult spots. This was quickly driving him mad.

"Go on, Remus -- _agh_ -- I'll tell you where I got the Map!"

Lupin appeared to consider this for a moment, before flicking his wand at Harry with a cheerful, "_Finite!_"

Harry managed to glare at the early-aging man for a pathetically short amount of time, before smiling reluctantly, and accepting the offered hand helping him to his feet.

"I still itch," He noted grumpily, scratching at a particularly persistant spot behind his left ear. A wave of relief came from between his shoulders, and Harry realized that Remus had slung an arm over his shoulder, and was scuffing his fingernails helpfully over Harry's robes.

"Yes, well, you will for a bit. After-effects, and all that. Sirius used to cast in on your dad at every oppurtunity; said it was payback for turning into an animal too tall for fleas." Remus' expression was soft, but not as sad as it had been in the past. Harry thought this strange, because the mention of his godfather cut through his heart.

"What did my dad do?" Harry questioned softly, half from curiousity and half because Remus rarely talked about his days with the Marauders, and the look in the man's eyes suggested he might have enjoyed talking about it a bit more.

Sure enough, the lined face broke out into a fond grin, but he cast his eyes sideways at Harry and raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me about the Map first -- you've no idea the ways we tried to get it back. Where on earth did you find it?"

And so Harry told him about Fred and George, and the story they had told him. Remus actually laughed out loud when Harry mentioned the drawer labeled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous".

"And they opened it?"

"Got it in one. You can't really be surprised, Pro-- Remus! This is Fred and George we're talking about."

They talked quietly as the stars began to come out and the street lights turned on along Privet Drive, swapping stories of the Marauders for those of "the Brat Pack" as Remus affectionately labeled Harry and his friends. A not-quite-full, waning moon was unveiled by the clouds once, and Remus paused in his story-telling to shudder sharply, and though Harry knew too much about fear to want to mention it, he did lean casually sideways, knocking heads with the werewolf once, playfully, before resting his head on the weathered robes. Remus continued with the story -- his voice soft -- and did not look up to the moon again.

Remus, Harry concluded as the gentle voice described the night the Marauders confronted him on his lycanthropy, was very different from Sirius when it came to this sort of thing. Sirius had been charmingly young at heart. Sirius had been playful and exuberant, seeming to know exactly how to convey affection without the slightest embarassment. Sirius protected with an intensity that was often frightening, but often spoke most harshly to the very same people he would die for. He gave excellent advice, which he then failed to follow himself. He could be sullen, resentful, bitter, and vicious. Most of all, Sirius loved.

But Remus?

Harry wondered if even Dumbledore was as old as Remus, at times. He was surprisingly gentle, he seemed wary of affection and longing for contact all at once. It was strange to think of his ex-professor as a man who, for the majority of his life, hurt -- but that seemed to describe Remus best. He hurt, and he got through it, and he continued on with his life. Even now, when his voice shook with the pain the memory of his friends brought back, Remus continued to speak.

Dumbledore did arrive, eventually, strolling out of the night quite as though he was simply in the neighborhood and decided to stop by for a chat. He informed Harry that all of his things had already been "safely transported to our destination" and had seemed not the slightest bit repentant in setting up an unauthorized portkey right in the Dursley's backyard.

Arriving at Grimmauld Place -- stepping into the hallway which still smelled of dust and Doxy Spray and Sirius -- had left him all but winded. He strongly suspected he'd have broken down like a child had it not been for Remus' hand on his shoulder. Dumbledore left them rather hurriedly, suggesting that Harry get to bed early, as Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were due to re-paint the drawing room tomorrow morning. Feeling as though he was stuck in an ongoing bad dream, Harry turned for the staircase, but a voice behind him stopped him short.

"Harry ..."

Harry turned. Remus was looking back at him with an odd expression. He wanted to ask what it was Remus wanted to say, but he himself could not speak past the lump that had been growing in his throat since he stepped foot in this horrible house.

"He never got a chance to ... tell you how much ..."

But Harry, who was certain he would lose his composure if Remus finished, stepped forward and Remus, understanding immediately, pulled him close, resting his chin on the mess of black hair.

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Remus stayed awake long after Harry retreated to bed, indulging in Ogden's Old Firewhisky as he hadn't done since Sirius' death. When he was thoroughly pissed and the pain had still not diminished, he dropped his head to his arms, cheeks damp and eyes swollen, and felt himself begin to doze. The voices he heard, he thought vaguely before drifting into sleep, were a side effect of intoxication.

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_"Can't believe it, Moony getting drunk."_

_"And all those lectures about how our livers were going to be the death of us."_

_"Not even close!"_

_"Poor sod."_

_"He and Harry have each other, now."_

_"They miss you terribly."_

_"The ones we love never really leave us, Mr. Prongs. And now, if you'll follow me, I have a godson to check on."_

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Author Notes: So. That is the end of that, unless something in Half Blood Prince screams out for another chapter. What did you think? Reviews are hearted. Muchly. All the love, and thanks for reading:D


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